A Letter to the Travelers
“Born a wanderer, I roam. Never really truly calling one place home. State to state, day by day, plane ride to train ride, I call this empty space my home. I never will know where the road goes, but that shouldn’t stop me from packing my bag. A wanderer to know that the purpose of a house is not to call it a home, and the purpose of a home is something to carry in my heart. It is sad to say, a paradox, really, that I have never yet packed my bags to wander down the aimless path. I’m a traveler who has never really traveled, but I am convinced that one day, my feet will know where to go.”
A Letter to the Travelers Who Have Never Traveled:
To start, I just want to clarify something. I am not a world traveler. I haven’t gone to China, or Italy, or France. I haven’t even gone to Mexico, or seen the west coast. But, I’m not a world traveler because I haven’t wanted to be one. Please hear me out when I say that I’ve wanted to travel for my entire life, but my family just never had the same kind of wandering spirit.
Now, mom and dad, sisters, please don’t take offense. I think it’s great that once things settled down with Dad’s job that we stayed in one place. Traveling without caution, without the right sense of adventure, that’s not traveling. That’s being forced into an unwanted adventure. So, I understand why we stayed in one place.
But my heart has never been in one place, and neither have my feet. “Moving. You’re always moving.” That’s what I was told as I grew up. I was always moving. There was always something out there to be discovered and explored. As I’ve gotten older, I still have the same mentality.
I literally don’t stop moving in some capacity. I have to be doing something. Something else, something bigger, some grand adventure will always be out there. But when I got to college, something changed. My need for adventure turned into an excuse to leave.
I wasn’t looking for the adventure. I was imagining that my life would look better somewhere else because all I ever wanted to do was just leave. Pack a bag, grab my keys, and leave. It seemed like a great idea.
But that’s not adventuring, that’s running. I was trying to run away from my life with the excuse of adventure. I wasn’t present. I wasn’t where my feet were. My feet were In a place where my mind didn’t want to be, and I missed out on something.
The entire first semester of college, I was basically trying to plan my escape. I was trying to find a reason to leave the place I was because I didn’t want to be there.
So, I have a question then. This is to myself, and it is to you, those who have yet to travel the world near and far:
What if we viewed our life as an adventure? The entire span of our existence, from the moment we’re born, to the day we die, what if we believed that we were on a constant adventure? So, instead of having a longing to leave, we have a heart to stay and find the adventure where we are.
Where are your feet facing? Because I can tell you that mine have almost always been pointed toward the road, without ever really acknowledging the sidewalk. I know that in life, most things don’t really work out in the way we expect them to. We often end up in a place that we never thought we would, whether it’s school, or work, or a physical location. We make plans, and then our plans change because life changes. But hold tight, my world travelers, hold tight because adventure is out there.
It’s my hope for you, just as much as it is for myself, that the adventure you find yourself on is much more than just a plane, train, or car ride away. I hope that your adventure is one to last a lifetime, wherever your feet may take you.
Sincerely, your poor, under-traveled, adventurous college intern